


My boy

by Anonymous



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dom/sub, F/M, Femdom, Gender Role Reversal, Gentle femdom, Hurt/Comfort, Male Submissive, Master/Slave, Matriarchal society, Misandrist Society, Older Woman/Younger Man, Past Rape/Non-con, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Slavery, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:28:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22554829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: In a world where misandrist society is a thing, an Astranian slave tries to run away to Uprax, a country where slavery doesn’t exist. What he doesn’t know is that Princess Ayre, the third in line to the throne, is not willing to lose the slave, all because of an accidental mistake from her part.She will not lose him.Not again.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 14
Kudos: 84
Collections: Anonymous





	My boy

**Author's Note:**

> I've been DAYDREAMING about this story for ages, so here it is, fresh from the oven, enjoy!

**Chapter one**

He wakes up with the sound of rain falling. He curls up a little more, missing the warmth that he was so used to and wishing for another blanket, but he _knows_ he should be grateful for just waking up another day in the abandoned house he took refuge and _not captured_.

It takes him a while to move again. Even if it has been almost six months since he ran away, there is no day in which he fears he will be found and brought back to the place he now dreads. His heart skips a beat because he _knows_ he did the unthinkable, for choosing to betray his current owner.

But the emotional scars and the cruelty she subjected him to, during the short period in which he worked for her, is enough to keep being on the run. Unlike all the other boys he saw during his travel, the men that are cherished and spoiled by their wives, he’s no free man.

He’s a _slave_.

There are days where he wants to rip his identification number tattooed on his left shoulder, thinking it will be enough to free him once and for all. Days where he wonders what his life could have been if only, he hadn’t been sold. Days where he thinks and wishes his body wouldn’t be tarnished and broken, filled with scars and burns due to miserable life that comes with being a slave.

All because he came with a family with too many boys. His heart aches at the memory. He was the youngest of six boys and four girls. He doesn’t remember much from his childhood, only the gentle tales his mother would sing whenever he got scared of the dark. Mom’s hugs and his sister’s tales about school. And his father’s caring smile. The same Father that didn’t come to his rescue once his mother decided to sell him and ignored his frantic pleas when the merchant finally managed to trap him in a cage.

Looking back and almost fourteen years later, he can understand why his parents didn’t think twice about selling him off. Unlike all his other siblings, he didn’t get his Mother’s intelligence or Father’s beauty. He was the smallest, prone to getting sick, and the ugliest of them all.

The first mistress he had, didn’t care about his frail condition. At the young age of six, he quickly learned that unless he wanted to be whipped to death, he had to follow orders without hesitance. The same mistress who didn’t think twice about whipping him until he fainted when one morning he decided to sing while tending his Mistress’s clothes.

It’s only the sudden urge to pee that distracts him from the depressing thoughts. So, with a sigh, he picks up the scarce utensils he has and goes out, praying to whatever god out there to help him not getting caught.

* * *

It’s around midday where his body starts to fail him, a mix of exhaustion and dehydration slowly setting into his bones. His lips are chapped, and there’s this never-ending tiredness that seems to follow him everywhere. His feet, on the other hand, are covered in blisters and with every step he takes, it’s as if a thousand needles were constantly perforating his skin.

Does that stop him?

_No._

He simply clenches his teeth and keeps walking because as much as he would like to take a break, there is a seven kilometers distance to the nearby town he _must_ reach today. He’s in the middle of the forest, filled with traps and bounty hunters, but it’s the last trek he must do in other to once and for all, cross the border.

And becoming, once and all, a free man.

There’s a small part of him that doesn’t know if he will even get to make it out alive. He grew up hearing the many tales about slaves wanting to cross Astrana in order to reach Uprax. A country where slavery doesn’t exist. People wanting to be free from the chains of slavery and pain, only to lose their lives, while fleeing.

Or the ones he fears the most, slaves that are recaptured by bounty hunters and brought back to their masters. He’s no fool on that matter. He’s realistic enough to know that if they ever catch him, his current mistress won’t think twice in killing him. She’s powerful and cruel.

She never cared for him, anyways.

Perhaps…there was once a time where he would have gladly served with gratitude. Days where he thought his life was bearable…where he once thought he could do that. But all of that changed, when he was a given to his fourth owner.

Very drastically from the kinder one, he previously had.

He grips harder the straps of the backpack he stole two towns ago, and prays to Inos, the God of Freedom, to help him cross the border without difficulty. Out of all the goddesses, Inos is the only male god he’s loyal to, and the one he identifies the most.

It’s only when he goes past a rock, that he hears a nearby dog howling. A chill creeps up to his spine, when another dog, probably a beagle, howls in return. It’s a _pack_ , he realizes with terror. The usual type of hounds, bounty Hunters have and use whenever they’re doing a chase.

No.

 _No_.

“There he is!” He hears a female voice shout, and two seconds later a dart falls not too far from where he is. He starts running, trying to gather some distance, but he _knows_ he’s too weak to get out of this chase. He can hear how the dogs are getting near him. But it isn’t that what makes his eyes water.

It’s the pain of having a dart incrusted on his back what manages to, despite all the training his first owner let him go through, let out a sob. _Boys like you should only be seen and not heard_ ; she would say while slicing his skin with her favorite whip. She would only stop when his voice came out hoarse and all he could do was lay there and go through it in silence.

She loved the silence.

He _doesn’t_ want to go back.

So, in a moment of bravery, he does the unthinkable and throws himself to the river. He hears a scandalized “stop!”, probably from the bounty hunter, but he doesn’t care. He would rather be dead than to serve that _wicked woman_ , ever again.

Soon icy water fills his lung, and with the sedative doing its effect, he begins to lose consciousness. And the last thing he manages to think before he gets knocked out, as the current pushes him into the unknown, is quite simple.

_Fuck you._

* * *

There’s something wrong with him, he thinks. He’s warm, perhaps too warm. Has he finally died? Is he in heaven or hell? Or is this something else? He doesn’t know what exactly is happening. And for some strange reason, he doesn’t want to open his eyes.

Perhaps he is dead, after all. It’s only a faint sound, getting each time louder, which finally gets his attention. _“One, two, three,”_ being repeated over time. _Uh_ , he thinks partially curious to see what this is all about. It’s only when he opens his eyes, that his biggest nightmares come true and hits him with force.

This isn’t heaven or hell. It’s not even a dream he can wake up and forget. It’s the same bounty hunter from before. Not too far from her, is another woman watching him. _No_ , he thinks with terror when the bounty hunter realizes he’s awake.

A small part of him breaks.

“Yes!” She exclaims with a fist pump. Then, to his displeasure, she starts petting his hair. Classic bounty hunter behavior whenever they want a slave to calm down. “How much gold do you think this one is worth?”

“According to the list, that boy is on the top five,” The other comments, taking that as a cue to invade his privacy and open his shirt with a knife. And with the contrast of the scorching flames of a bonfire (that was why it was so warm, they had light up a fire) near them, one could easily see the numbers tattooed on his left shoulder.

“Male in his twenties, Caucasian and mute,” The other says, uninterested about this whole ordeal. He wants to scream, plead for his life, to let him go, but no words come out of his mouth. They won’t. His first owner made sure to erase that hope too. “Number 757076. Yeah, he’s the one. Matches the picture and everything.”

“Wait, was he always like this?” The bounty hunter asked while checking his pupil. The other start taking out all the items out of a backpack, inspecting them with care. _His backpack_ , he realizes two seconds later, when he sees her fishing out the only thing he managed to keep from his childhood.

“Because I swear, I heard him say something when one of the darts hits him.”

“Well, he was trained to not speak,” Is the swift reply, with a shrug. It’s his necklace, the one Father gave him the night before he was sold off. It’s the only thing he has, from his younger days. The last link he has with his family.

In a sudden rush of adrenaline, he tries to form the words. _Mine,_ he tries to croak out. Except they don’t come out, all he can get is an incoherent mix of sounds. He knows he’s probably doing the ridicule, for trying to speak after being forced to never speak again unless he wanted to be whipped, but he’s desperate. It’s the only link he has with his family.

He _can’t_.

 _It’s mine, please_. He tries again, but the other simply tugs his hair in a warning. It’s two tugs, but it’s enough to make up shut up. The other woman keeps the necklace in her breast pocket. The message is clear, _it’s not yours anymore_. Tears slowly begin to fall from his face, and he starts trembling when he gets wrapped by some blankets.

The bounty hunter simply coos at him and starts petting his hair, much to his distress.

“Rowyn don’t be a dick, can’t you see the poor thing is tired?” She says to the other woman who’s still searching through his things. “Also, do you happen to know if the boy is crate trained?”

He _pales._

* * *

The trek back to the Pirie, the capital city of Astrana, is not an easy one for Caeda Vawenys. If it had been for her she would have happily made the journey short and collect the bounty quick, but the boy they finally caught after of _weeks_ of search, is _sick._

She takes a quick glance at their luggage resting in the cart. And in between the many things they have gathered over the many years of bounty hunters, is the crate. Rowyn is inside the cart, keeping watch. They don’t want to take any chances with their bounty, slipping away from their fingers.

Because while the boy is mute, he is no fool. He’s too clever. Like for example, how exactly did he manage to make it past Noxfort, the militarized city of Astrana, near the border of Uprax? Caeda has absolutely no idea, but either way, that boy is far too intelligent for his own good. Therefore, they are taking precautions such as blindfolding and drugging him whenever they rest at an inn or a nearby town, so he doesn’t know which road or town they are in.

It’s a shame, really, because the boy hasn’t given them much trouble. She knows drugging only make slaves more anxious and afraid, but they don’t want to take a chance. Compared to the other bounty they collected before; this one is an angel.

So, they compromise. While they cover the crate most part of the trip, they do let him get out twice a day to stretch his legs and clean the crate. They give him peaches, as a treat. He hasn’t given them trouble, which sometimes makes her wonder what could have prompted the boy to escape.

According to the document given to them, the boy wasn’t a pet. Nor was he a bedding or entertainer slave, being those three the most commons that decide to escape. The boy was simply part of the domestic household staff.

Perhaps he grew tired of cleaning and tending clothes? She thinks, deep in thought. While there are many reasons that could have made this boy decide to betray her master, at the end of the day, it doesn’t even matter.

If Caeda gets the money, she doesn’t care much about the boy’s past. It’s one of the many lesson bounty hunters learn, in order to do their job done. And judging by the gruesome bounty on the boy’s head, Caeda has the feeling the owner considers him important.

The boy lets out a distressed whimper as if he knows what’s in store for him. Caeda quickly hushes him, wishing that the paycheck they will receive will be enough to make them survive the next couple of months.

* * *

He wakes up as soon as the carts stop moving. And unlike all the other times they don’t open the small crate they have forced him to live in. He curls up more, wishing that they would soon remove the black fabric that covers the crate, so he can see what’s happening.

But they don’t.

He doesn’t know how long they have been traveling or how many days have passed since they caught him because the crate, he has been forced to live in, is covered. He wishes he could see the sun and the clouds for one last time before they hand him back.

Because every time they get him out, so they can clean the crate from all the filth, it’s already dark. And he wishes, they could at least grant him that privilege, but he knows they won’t. While the bounty hunters aren’t cruel to him, he _knows_ they don’t view him as anything more than an object.

And that thought _burns_. He never asked for any of this. He _never_ asked to be sold, to become someone else’s property. He had been way too young, only six years old when his family decided to sell him. Now, even fourteen years later and he’s still paying the price.

Only because he had been the youngest. And he _wishes_ , so hard, it hadn’t. Ponders if maybe he had only been born prettier or smarter, if only he hadn’t been born a _boy_...would he still be a slave? Would his family still have thought of him as a burden and sell him as soon as they had the chance?

It _hurts_.

It _hurts so bad_.

Because now, with his arms tied behind his back and with a fever in hand, his life isn’t even up to him. Now he’s helpless, too weakened to even move or drink from the water bowl. He’s tired, so tired of everything. Too tired to even fear the punishment that will be sure to come.

And with that last thought in mind, he silently _cries_.

* * *

It’s only after having her cart, horse and her pack of beautiful hounds taken away that Caeda wonders what the hell did they get into. Both Caeda and Rowyn are now being led to an expensive-looking two-floor house. The type of houses that make her think either she’s going to get royalty scammed or this is a noble she will have to deal with.

She can tell that Rowyn is also distracted by all of this. Normally the bounty list doesn’t usually specify the owner’s name due to security measures, but girl it's annoying even having her _gun_ taken away from her. All this tight security and the absurd number of rules they made them both go through to get in touch with the owner’s pet is so _annoying_ it’s making her want to _snarl_.

But at the same time...it makes her wonder, how wealthy must this person be in order to afford all of this. A noble house, perhaps? She clicks her tongue, trying to remember. Pirie is a very diverse city, so there’s a slight chance she will be dealing with one of the fifteen noble families that have a direct link to the Queen.

Caeda never thought she would be in front of Princess Ayre Von Willebrand, the third in line to the throne, greeting them with a smile.

Caeda merely blinks, stupefied.

* * *

“Thank you so much for finding him,” Princess Ayre says, as the guards take the crate with them, and leave the room. “I hope he didn’t give you too much trouble.”

“He d-didn’t your highness,” Caeda responds, feeling more awkward as minutes pass by. She doesn’t know how to respond, but luckily, her partner Rowyn answers for her. “He was very well behaved, during the trip.”

“I’m glad. I thought I had-” Princess Ayre momentarily falters, her expression turning momentarily sad. _I had lost him forever_ , goes unsaid. “I’m just glad, _so glad_ you managed to find him.”

“Well, he did throw himself into the river,” Caeda says well mannered, sipping part of her tea. Rich folk’s tea, on top of it. She can already smell the generous paycheck. Princess Ayre’s eyes widen, and it’s only Rowyn foot kicking under the table that makes her understand she fucked up.

It’s why Rowyn, _Inir bless her_ , does the most part of the talking.

“He did?” She says, one hand going up to her mouth, scandalized. She pales as if sickened by it. “Why would he…? I-I don’t know, how come he…”

“He’s alright your highness,” Rowyn rushes to fix what Caeda said with her big fat mouth. “He wasn’t that much time in the waters and he only got a cold out of it. Give him some rest and he'll be up in no time.”

“I knew I should have never left in charge that wicked woman,” Ayre admits, clenching her fist. Her voice sounds way too emotional, giving them the impression that this is a rather delicate subject for her. “All the signals were there and yet...I didn’t notice. It’s my fault.”

Both Caeda and Rowyn glance at each other, not knowing how to proceed. While they both can’t deny they want to know more, it’s not their place.

“I’m sure it wasn’t your fault, your Highness,” Rowyn tries to comfort her, but Caeda knows she’s probably uncomfortable too. Rowyn is a lot of things, but she is no pacifier. “There are many reasons why slaves try to escape to Uprax. I’m sure with the correct retraining program, your pet will be-”

They keep chitchatting until Princess Ayre decides to once and for all, to set the record straight.

“Three years ago, I was chosen to be the diplomatic ambassador of Astrana,” Ayre tells, breaking composure and her voice coming out wobbly. There’s no doubt that this is the story about why the boy decided to flee, and to their highness, it’s painful to tell. “To stay in Drei, so we could improve the relationship we had.”

Ah, Drei.

Out of all nations and Kingdoms in Pradune, Drei was by far, the most savage. Unlike Astrana, they didn’t have a Queen or an Empress. Drei was a nation full of warrior tribes, seeking battle or war at the slightest provocations. It made sense, in a way, how the Queen sent the mellowest and well-spirited daughter into negotiations.

And judging by the lack of War Declaration, both Caeda and Rowyn know that Princess Ayre did good work there.

“I had to stay there for three years, and before I left, I put in charge someone else to take care of my household,” The Princess continues, evading their eye. “I thought she had good intentions, but she according to what the rest of my staff told me, she... _she_...used him as an entertainer slave, despite his lack of experience."

“Whenever she threw a party during my absence, the guest would strap him down and use a machine so they could prove if he could make a sound,” She tells them. “They would do it until he passed out. She used _him_ and abused him so much he decided to flee. He thought I abandoned him.”

A beat before she narrows her eyes and spits the words rapidly.

“And I plan to fix that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, thanks for reading!  
> 


End file.
